


Leonard McCoy: Reanimator

by shouldgowork



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Horror, Lovecraftian, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 11:58:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10411641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shouldgowork/pseuds/shouldgowork
Summary: Khan's blood restores - but is that all?





	

1.

‘ _Goddamnit_ this will work.’ Bones said, teeth gritted, arm straining forward to reach the syringe that Spock was holding just out of reach.

‘That is far from certain.’

The doctor’s hand moved to gesture wildly at the tribble huffing away on the table, if anything more animatedly than usual, but he did not move forward, his other hand unable to leave the machine at Jim’s side.

‘A tribble is not a man.’

Bones snarled exasperatedly. ‘Well what the hell’s your problem with _trying_?’

Spock’s eyebrows furrowed while the rest of him remained utterly motionless, even the rise and fall of his chest seemed to have stopped, as if any movement at all required a decision to have been made, a decision he was clearly struggling with. Bones allowed him twenty seconds of inaction before starting to shout again.

‘For _f-‘_

Before he got any further, the Vulcan launched himself forward, finding the vein and emptying it into Kirk’s arm himself.

‘As you say, it would be illogical not to try.’

Bones barely had time to administer a shaky slap to Spock’s back, half grateful, half admonishing, as he left the room, though the doctor hardly noticed his exit, pulling up a chair and beginning to mutter pleadingly at the unconscious man before him.

 

 

2.

_First Officer’s Personal Log. Star Date 2259.168_

We have done it. Against almost impossible odds, Khan’s blood has restored the captain to full health, and he will be well rested enough to resume duties within the week, if not sooner. My own relief and happiness are tinged, though, with embarrassment. As we prepared to administer it, a strange sensation overcame me. Something not far from physical nausea, though there was no logical explanation for it. It wonder if it may have been something akin to what the doctor would call a gut feeling. Against all reason, I felt a strange fear that what we were planning to do would make the captain’s situation worse – though what fate could there be worse than the empty finality of death itself? That fact, and my friendship, overwhelmed this foolish fancy of mine. I am so pleased that it did.

 

 

3.

Bones slumped onto a stool at the bar, trying desperately to remember the Andorii for a quadruple whiskey. As if by magic, a glass, though only a double, appeared in front of his face.

‘Jim?’ He said, looking up gratefully at his benefactor.

‘The one and only.’

‘As your doctor, I should caution you against drinking’. Bones said, nodding at the twin glass the captain held. ‘As your friend, it’s been too long since we did this.’ He clinked his glass against the other and drained it.

‘I’m sorry. I haven’t had much time since… well, you know.’

Bones merely nodded, a shudder passing through him at the memory of Jim’s dead face. It had been nearly a month, and in that time he’d seen his friend no more than a handful of times, all of them medical check-ups, attended with an unfamiliar obedience. Bones supposed that dying’d change a man’s perspective on these things, and it wasn’t unusual for the captain to be busy, though normally the crisis was more obvious, loud or explosive.

‘It’s fine. I’m just messing. I know you’ve been busy. Sounds like you’ve been getting their salary’s worth out of the cartographers and the archives.’

‘Just looking into a few things.’

‘And it’s not like you to spend so much time in the research labs.’

‘You’ve got quite the spy network there.’ The captain replied with a grin, knocking back his glass.

‘Hey, Captain!’ One of the ensigns called over with a friendly wave, ‘Richards found a proper dartboard!’

‘How could I resist.’ He bellowed back, bounding over to the small group by the wall, at least one of whom must have been aware of Jim’s passion for throwing darts surprisingly badly. Bones followed slightly less steadily and wondered just when his tolerance had gotten so much lower than Jim’s. By the time he’d jostled his way in, Jim and the ensign were taking turns to throw, Jim’s getting closer and closer to the bullseye until it hit it squarely, drawing a cheer from the crowd. The ensign laughed and held his hands up in defeat, but Jim just grabbed more darts, throwing three of them in quick succession, their points thudding deeply into the small red target. The cheer was even louder this time, though, for once, Jim did not bask in it, but merely frowned.

‘This is too easy.’

‘Then step back a few feet.’ Bones piped up, and someone hooted in agreement.

‘I’m game for round two if you are.’ The ensign said, stepping a couple of paces back exaggeratedly.

‘Boring. Ensign, go stand next to the board.’

A look of confusion crossed the man’s face but he walked forward, as the crowd giggled, waiting to see what childish prank, what ridiculous competition, this was about to descend into.

‘Place your hand on the board with your fingers splayed.’ He said, grabbing three more darts and a pocket knife out of his jacket.

Silence quickly fell, save for a few stuttering noises from the unfortunate ensign.

‘Are you disobeying a direct order? From your captain?’ He said, smiling a little widely. The boy shook his head and slowly, reluctantly, moved his hand.

‘Now wait just a minute, Jim.‘ Bones said, surging forward and placing a hand on his friend’s arm, quickly shrugged off.

‘Are you interfering with the captain’s command, Dr McCoy?’

It had to be some sort of joke, though he could see from Jim’s face that it was no such thing. Not even this insanity, though, would make Bones take the plunge and risk a court martial. Reluctantly he stepped back and watched, holding his breath as, in quick succession, the captain threw, and landed, the darts and the knife perfectly between his fingers.

Finally Jim laughed, flushed with pride, only noticing after a few moments the heavy quiet of the group, and the ensign’s shaking arm.

‘You can remove your hand now.’ He said, walking over and slapping him heartily on his back, nearly sending him to the floor. ‘And get a drink on me, for playing my little game. Because it _was_ just a little game, right? After all, I didn’t hit you. You’re _fine_.’

‘Yes. Thank you. Sir.’ He said weakly, heading over to the bar, the crowd dissolving back to their former seats or following him, almost grouping around him protectively, though Jim’s attention had been caught now by the pool table, its current occupants stepping away and virtually throwing both cues at him as they shuffled past.

‘Bones? Fancy a game?’

‘I’m on duty tomorrow morning. Better get some sleep. Maybe you should too.’

‘Suit yourself.’

 

 

4.

_First Officer’s Personal Log. Star Date 2259.209_

I have never doubted my sanity before, though I have never had a reason to. Not like this. The man who captains this ship is James T. Kirk. I know this to be factually correct. In the six weeks since he was revived, though, I have had many causes for doubt. His behaviour, his actions, are different. Our last few missions have been carried out with a ruthless efficiency I would normally advocate for, if it weren’t so far from his character. Twice now, when offered the opportunity to throw himself into danger to help others, it seems not even to have crossed his mind.

Nyota tells me that I am being insensitive, that he’s been traumatised by his experience. That his bravado has finally been tempered by experience. That I can’t hold minor character changes against him. Naturally, I am well aware of the behavioural changes that trauma can bring about. But a man’s smell? His stamina? His metabolism? These too have changed since he woke up. I have never read about anything like it. We had not thought that the blood transfusion would affect the captain so fundamentally. I cannot help but wonder if it has changed his mind as well as his body. Accessing his records, I notice that Dr McCoy recommended an evaluation of his mental state by Dr Carter. Maybe I am not the only one who sees that something is very wrong.

 

 

5.

‘She passed him with flying colours, Spock.’ The doctor said, head in his hands. ‘She was so damn _charmed._ Her evaluation read like a teenager’s diary. It’s not like her at all.’

‘Have you spoken to Dr Carter about your concerns?’

‘She got angry at me for calling her professionalism into question.’

‘Understandably.’

‘This is no time for your pettiness.’ He barked angrily, though Spock he knew he was more the outlet than the cause of his anger.

‘That was not my intention.’

‘It never is with you, is it?’ The doctor replied, launching himself from his bed and beginning to pace the room furiously. ‘She’s not taking this any further, she says he’s perfectly competent, even if he is a little different. Hell, she said he was _better_ than before.’

‘Better?’

‘Less hot headed. More sensible in the decision-making hypotheticals she put to him.’

‘Less hot headed when he chooses, perhaps.’ Spock replied with a humourless smile.

‘One of my science officers was at that bar during the last shore leave.’ He continued, at the doctor’s quizzical expression. ‘Though everyone seems to be attributing it to drunkenness.’

‘He wasn’t drunk.’

‘I suspected as much. At least he has not acted like that since.’

‘Perhaps he’s getting better.’ Bones said. ‘Getting back to his old self.’

‘Do you truly believe that?’

‘No. I know the bar incident was just one time, but it’s made me watch him. And though he’s acted faultlessly since then, he’s still wrong, somehow.’ He replied wearily, slouching back onto the edge of his bed. Spock perched on the end of it, fidgeting uncharacteristically and lapsing into unhappy silence for several minutes.

‘When we were injecting him. I felt… I felt dread.’

‘You? _Dread_?’

‘I believe so. Dr McCoy, we have done something terrible.’  

‘We saved his life.’

‘We did more than that. He’s changing.’

‘He _died_ goddamnit. We brought him back _from the dead_. It’s not surprising there’s a few kinks being ironed out upstairs.’ Bones replied, aware of how medically unsound his line of reasoning was and trying not to care.

‘I’m not-‘

‘-what are you even _saying_?’ The doctor shouted, grabbing the Vulcan by the shoulders roughly, as if he could shake the very notion from Spock’s head – and his own.

‘That blood carried more from its donor than we meant it to. Not just life itself, nor just the physiological gifts of Khan’s genetic engineering. A darkness in his character that was never there before.’

‘But even Khan was provoked to treat Marcus as he did. Hell, we have no reason to think the rest of those test tubers are...’ The doctor said, gesturing vaguely to avoid all of the descriptors that currently came to mind.

‘They were engineered before birth. Kirk suffered first the shock of dying, and then the shock of being brought back.’

‘Revival from clinical death is an old and well established medical practice. Hell, they could do that in the 20th century.’

‘They were never dead for so long. They never died how he died. Who knows what effect that could have on a man’s psyche, even without the introduction of foreign genetic material?’

‘You’re just speculating!’

‘You cannot deny the possibility.’

Bones couldn’t and consoled himself by punching a pillow a couple of times.

‘He’s gotten so sneaky.’ He said, tossing the pillow aside. ‘No one would believe us, and why should they? One slip up, that night at the bar on Andoria, but otherwise he’s been fine. And the ship’s been fine. We haven’t been on red alert once since this all happened, and everyone’s damned grateful for that. And if he’s been more calculating, been less brave – foolhardy really – then we’re all safer for it on board the Enterprise. That’s how people’ll see it. And how can we _know_ this isn’t just him facing mortality and seeing he doesn’t like it? That this isn’t just him taking better care of himself?’

‘Yes. Perhaps you’re right. In any case, I see no course of action open to us other than watching and waiting.’

 

 

6.

_First Officer’s Personal Log. Star Date 2259.271_

As time goes on, I become more certain of my fears, as nebulous as they are. Though he will hardly speak of it, I know the doctor agrees. The captain is slowly testing the limits of his authority, trying to accrue personal authority and influence wherever he can. He strives to find excuses to contact new peoples, he half-heartedly rejects their adoration and awe while basking in it. He even seems to look forward to diplomatic missions, ingratiating himself with whomever is most powerful, guiding, ever so subtly, the outcomes of the talks, an activity well beyond his remit. One must watch him near-obsessively to see it properly, but I do. We both do.

Twice now I have had to point out that we are heading away from our agreed destination and towards the Neutral Zone. Twice he has laughed it off and had our helmsman changed course again. What he wants there, I don’t know. Still no one else sees a problem. After all, he is more charismatic than ever. Perhaps more importantly, he has kept us away from major incidents and has ensured shore leave be undertaken liberally, in a way he did not before. He is more adored than ever, and I have no grounds on which to go above his head.

He has avoided being alone in the company of myself and the doctor for weeks now. Neither of us mind. We both find ourselves oddly fearful of the possibility. Though it seems foolish, we have taken to spending as much time as possible at our posts, and almost all other time in the mess. We both feel safer in public. Everyone else continues with their lives and duties, utterly untouched by this fear. Perhaps Jim is acting completely normally. Perhaps there is only something wrong with us. I do not know which is worse.

 

 

7.

‘Nyota, I’m… I just don’t know what to say.’ Kirk said, tears threatening to tumble, enveloping the shell-shocked woman in comforting arms. ‘I want you to know. I want you _all_ to know,’ he went on fiercely, turning to face the rest of the bridge, ‘that I will not rest until justice has been done.’

‘Captain, we don’t know yet that the transport vessel sustained fire. It might have been a malfunction.’ Sulu said quietly. ‘As we have warped out of the area, at your instruction, I am unable to ascertain this.’

‘We had to retreat to avoid further immediate repercussions, to protect the lives on board this ship. And are you calling Scotty’s abilities into question? Besides, no internal malfunction would cause a vessel to explode like that.’

Sulu nodded reluctantly, unable to argue with the captain’s final point, which had finally elicited a sob from Uhura.

‘I think that’s enough wild speculation now.’ The captain said pointedly in the direction of the helm. ‘Mr Chekov, please take her down to Nurse Chapel, she’s in shock.’

‘Just to think, that I too was meant to be on board, heading to that outpost. If I had not changed my mind’ _If I had not knocked everyone out with gas. If I had not engaged the autopilot and left a bomb on my seat_ ‘Then maybe I could have done something. And Spock, and Bones, my friends, my _brothers,_ would be here right now.’

He collapsed dramatically into the chair and wept, as hands patted him and voices soothed.

‘If only a distress call hadn’t been made from the edge of the Neutral Zone.’ He went on.

‘A hoax. Undoubtedly a Romulan ploy.’ Sulu said angrily. Kirk’s grief gave way to trembling outrage.

‘Yes, that must be it. They lured us over here, and murdered several Starfleet officers. I will make an urgent report immediately. In the mean time, Mr Sulu, reduce speed but keep retreating.’

The helmsman nodded.

‘I hope more than anything that war with the Romulans can be avoided. But at least we can rest with a clear conscience that we have not instigated it, that we are only trying to see justice for our fallen friends.’ The captain said, turning to make one more address to the bridge. Everyone nodded, silent and determined, before turning with renewed fervour to their tasks. Righteous and enthusiastic, just how he wanted them.

War, that most glorious and chaotic opportunity, was a certainty.  He would make what he wanted of this universe and its foolish, fragile, suggestible inhabitants. There was nothing stopping him now.

 

 


End file.
